


I don't smoke

by poppunkpadfoot (StormVandal)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Casual Sex, Community: HPFT, First War with Voldemort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormVandal/pseuds/poppunkpadfoot
Summary: “I don’t smoke,” says Remus, which is a damn lie and Sirius knows it, because they’ve been here so many times over the last few months, and Remus always takes the cigarette when Sirius offers.(Because he’ll take whatever Sirius will give him, even if it’s only half a cigarette, or just one night before they go back to pretending nothing’s happening.)





	I don't smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on/inspired by the Mitski song of the same name :) The incomparable Emma (facingthenorthwind/spacegandalf) helped me finish it, thank you Emma!!
> 
> Written for HPFT's Great Collab 2019, theme: take me home.

It’s a cool September night, and the lawn is dark, cloaked in long shadows, illuminated only by the moon overhead and the light spilling from the living room window. Sounds from inside drift through the air, reaching Remus clearly where he stands leaning against the garden fence - music and voices intermingling, painting a picture of the party inside.

 

Remus has been having a perfectly nice time, but he just… he needs some air. He’s always been a bit uncomfortable in crowds; even at a party like this one, where he knows and likes most of the attendees, the energy of a crowded room tends to crawl under his skin after a while. He’ll go back inside in a bit, when the prickling discomfort recedes.

 

He shivers a little against the chill of the night, despite his jumper and the whiskey he’d been drinking inside. He’s not drunk, just pleasantly tipsy, but he’d been hoping he’d drunk enough to warm him up a little. Apparently not.

 

Despite the cold and the party noises grounding him, he feels a little bit far away. It feels… so odd, that something like a party can still happen when people are disappearing and bodies are turning up every week. War, it seems, does not make the whole world stop. And to add another layer to his feeling of disconnect, it’s very hard to shake the feeling that he’s supposed to be at Hogwarts - that he’d missed the train a few weeks ago, and now he’s in terrible trouble. It’s not true, of course - he’d graduated back in June - but it’s hard to shake the sense of wrongness.

 

There are, he supposes, quite a few good reasons for him to feel adrift. Hogwarts is just the easiest one to think about.

 

He’s lost in thought, staring up at the moon ( _ first quarter; the aches and pains will begin in earnest in a few days _ ) and he doesn’t notice when someone walks up to him. He actually jumps at the sound of a voice.

 

“So here’s where you’ve wandered off to,” says Sirius.

 

“ _ God _ ,” says Remus, pressing one hand against his chest - he doesn’t miss the amused smirk that ghosts over Sirius’s lips at the sight.

 

“Did I scare you?” he asks teasingly, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of his leather jacket and putting it between his lips. He ducks his head to light it, and the flame from his lighter throws the angles of his face into sharp relief.

 

Remus stares. There was a time, not so long ago, when he would have forced himself to look away. But things are different now. He doesn’t bother.

 

Sirius inhales deeply and he tucks his lighter back into his pocket, and he raises an eyebrow when he notices Remus staring at him. Remus flushes, but holds his gaze. After a long moment, Sirius tilts his head back, blowing out a long stream of smoke, and then he holds the cigarette out to Remus.

 

“I don’t smoke,” says Remus, which is a damn lie and Sirius knows it, because they’ve been here so many times over the last few months, and Remus always takes the cigarette when Sirius offers.

 

(Because he’ll take whatever Sirius will give him, even if it’s only half a cigarette, or just one night before they go back to pretending nothing’s happening.)

 

“Right,” Sirius says disbelievingly. “Suit yourself, more for me.”

 

They stand there in silence for a while, Sirius smoking, Remus fighting the impulse to cave and take the cigarette if only for an excuse to touch Sirius’s hand. And it’s - it’s bullshit that he needs an excuse at all, he knows it is, but that doesn’t change the fact that he does.

 

This thing that they’re doing - they haven’t spoken about it, and Remus is quite sure that if Sirius gets his way they never will. They’ll keep sneaking around and pretending nothing’s changed even though it clearly  _ has _ because they didn’t used to  _ fuck _ each other.

 

Remus, if he’s being honest, is getting quite tired of it.

 

Not the sex, obviously, because (Merlin help him) it’s amazing; but the sneaking around, the silence, is what he’s sick of. It’s almost out of character for him - he’s used to not talking about difficult things, to keeping things locked tightly inside himself and pushing them out of his mind. He doesn’t know why this should be any different, but apparently it is.

 

Eventually, Sirius finishes his cigarette; he stubs the butt out on the fence they’re leaning against, and Remus still hasn’t spoken. Sirius looks over at him, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

 

“Suppose I’ll head back in, then,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse.

 

Remus kisses him.

 

He’s not really thinking, he just  _ does _ it - steps forward, cups his face and crushes their lips together, and Sirius freezes. Remus is sure he’s going to pull away - for a moment, he’s convinced that he’s going to punch him or something - but then, before Remus has a chance to backpedal, Sirius melts against him, snakes his arms around his waist and kisses him back.

 

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he mumbles against Remus’s lips, even as he slips a hand under his jumper to rest on the small of his back.

 

“Take me home, then,” Remus replies, and it can’t be the whiskey making him this bold - he hadn’t had enough of it - but he can’t be bothered to question it right now.

 

“Yeah,” says Sirius breathlessly, “alright, I - should we go back in and say goodbye first, or -”

 

Remus doesn’t bother to answer; instead, he grabs Sirius by the hand and Disapparates.

 

**

 

Falling into bed together is easy, at this point; they’re both naked in Sirius’s room within five minutes of arriving at his flat. It’s everything else about the situation that’s difficult, but that’s nearly impossible to think about when Sirius is straddling Remus on the bed and kissing him so intensely.

 

It wasn’t always this effortless; the first time, Sirius had kissed Remus like he’d wanted to break him, and hadn’t talked to him for nearly a week afterwards. Most of the time when Remus is around there’s a spark of panic in Sirius’s eyes, obvious to anyone looking for it, no matter how well Sirius may think he’s hiding it. They are casual and so, so careful, not touching, barely looking at each other, until they are alone and Sirius tears into him like a starving man would fall upon a feast.

 

Remus is an affliction, a miserable indulgence that Sirius seems helpless to avoid, like his cigarettes, and drinking too much, and the way he throws himself headlong into every danger that comes his way. He gives Sirius as much as he can take, and would give him more if he asked for it.

 

They have not talked about it.

 

**

 

When they finish, Sirius rolls over onto the other side of the bed almost without missing a beat. Sitting up, he plucks a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray on the bedside table and lights it with his wand this time, his leather jacket (and the lighter in its pocket) abandoned in the entryway. He doesn’t look at Remus, and Remus can’t help but be aware that Sirius is not touching him, that he by all appearances is actively avoiding doing so. Sirius is on his side of the bed, and Remus is on the other, and he thinks they used to touch more before they were fucking.

 

He holds his hand out for the cigarette, and Sirius raises his eyebrows at him as he passes it over.

 

“I thought you don’t smoke,” he says, and Remus bristles a little at the mocking undertone. He inhales, and tries to ground himself in the burn in his lungs. It doesn’t work. He’s still prickling with irritation - at himself, at Sirius, at the whole goddamn situation. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him tonight, why he can’t just give himself over and take whatever Sirius’ll give him - it is, after all, more than he’s worthy of.

 

And yet.

 

“Yeah,” he says, smoke flowing out over his lips. “Well. Maybe I just wanted you to cut the bullshit.”

 

Sirius’s whole body goes tense. He practically snatches his cigarette back out of Remus’s hand, and takes a short, angry drag before spitting out, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

“What are we even doing, Sirius? Are we  _ ever _ going to talk about it? Or are we just going to keep sneaking around like - like children who know they’re doing something naughty? Is that the plan?”

 

He doesn’t mean to say any of that, but it all comes spilling out anyway. He can’t say he’s proud of it, either; he sounds needy, clingy, desperate, and he’s none of those things. He doesn’t care  _ what _ Sirius wants from him, he just wants to know what it  _ is _ .

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sirius’s voice drips with sarcasm, and Remus tries not to cringe. “I didn’t know that casual sex requires a  _ plan _ . Do you want to draw up blueprints?”

 

“I didn’t say -”

 

“You do get to make choices, you know,” he interrupts, and takes another drag. “You can say no, you can tell me to fuck off if you want to; but don’t get pissed at me because I haven’t lived up to some expectation that you haven’t clued me in on. It’s not like I know what you’re thinking or what you want, either.”

 

Remus very much wishes he hadn’t said anything. It’s bad enough that Sirius is, by all appearances, perfectly fine with things as they stand; it’s even worse that he’s right. It’s a bit rich of him, he supposes, to be angry that Sirius won’t say how he feels or what he’s thinking, when he himself has gone along with this in silence.

 

But then again, how could he speak the truth? He’s seen the panic; he’s felt the cold creeping in; he has every reason to believe that Sirius would not take kindly to it if Remus said what he was really thinking -  _ I love you, I love you, I’ve always loved you and I think that I always will _ . He can see it now, the look on Sirius’s face; mingled disgust and anger distorting his features, his lip curling, and Remus cast out, never to be allowed back in.

 

He’d been thrilled, after that first time, dizzy and elated and terrified, even as he’d known it couldn’t and wouldn’t last. It had been as though he, after having his feet planted firmly on the ground his whole life, had suddenly been able to reach up and touch the stars. He’d known he risked getting burned - and yet, who would be strong enough to pass up the opportunity?

 

“Not going to say anything?” Sirius says, interrupting his train of thought. He still sounds tense and angry, but something in his voice makes Remus pause. He doesn’t dare look him in the eye - instead he looks to his left and regards Sirius’s reflection in the shattered mirror hanging on the wall. His cigarette is burning dangerously low, and he’s staring right at it as the orange light creeps ever closer to his fingertips. His face is partially obscured by his hair and the smoke, but Remus can still see him frowning - not a scowl but a frown, soft and sad around the edges.

 

“I just - I wanted -” he says, so quietly that Remus almost misses it, and tosses the butt of his fag into the ashtray just before it burns him. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. We don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to. I can leave you alone.”

 

He makes to get up and it’s this, finally, that makes Remus reach out and touch him. A hand on his shoulder, valiantly resisting the urge to trace his shoulderblade and the knobs of his spine. “Is that - is this what you want it to be?”

 

Sirius stops, turns back, looks at him with an expression Remus can’t read. “Is there any other choice?”

 

“I don’t know.” The truth, or part of it. “I never said you should leave me alone, though.”

 

“So then what do you want from me, Remus?” Sirius stands up, and Remus’s hand drops onto the bed. He feels it like a punch in the gut. “Seriously, clue me in, I’m lost. You don’t want me to leave you alone and you don’t want to keep doing this -” He gestures between them with one hand while he grabs his boxers from the floor with the other. “- So what do you want? Some kind of… of happily ever after, or something?”

 

“Is that so ridiculous?” Remus manages, stinging at Sirius’s derisive tone.

 

“I mean - yes?” Sirius laughs, but it’s humourless. “A happy ending? You and me? You don’t think that sounds ridiculous?”

 

“Why would it?”

 

“People like us don’t get happy endings! We just get - quick nameless fucks in cottages, maybe a short stint in prison, and then we die of liver failure.”

 

“We’ve been fucking for weeks, I don’t see how it’s any riskier if it - if it  _ means _ something. I mean, I’m already not a quick nameless fuck, you’ve known me since we were fucking eleven -”

 

“That’s half the fucking problem!”

 

“Why is that -”

 

“I’ll hurt you,” Sirius says, and lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Again. God.”

 

“Maybe you will,” Remus says, with a fierceness that almost surprises him. “The thing is, I don’t care.”

 

For a moment, all Sirius can do is stare at him; Remus has clearly thrown him off-kilter, and he uses Sirius’s speechlessness to push his advantage.

 

“I can handle it,” he says. “I’m stronger than you give me credit for, Sirius.”

 

“I don’t know if I am,” Sirius admits quietly. “Strong enough, I mean.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Remus sighs, though not without fondness. “What’s a romantic relationship compared to your mother?”

 

Sirius, much to his relief, actually chuckles.

 

“Okay,” he admits, “you may have a point.”

 

“Of course I do,” Remus says, and kisses him again.

 

It maybe wasn’t a perfect conversation, and he’s not  _ entirely _ clear where they stand now, but… they’ve talked about it, at least. For now, Remus will take it.

**Author's Note:**

> "I am stronger than you give me credit for" is a lyric from the titular Mitski song.
> 
> This is a slightly unusual fic for me, so I really hope you've enjoyed it!


End file.
